


Necessity

by wanderingsmith



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-17 11:49:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1386568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingsmith/pseuds/wanderingsmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>-can be read as gen-<br/>ch1(Bilbo): Watching the warrior figure first pacing towards combat, then rushing, sword and wooden shield raised, he understood.<br/>ch2(Bilbo): Part of him, a large part, wanted the hold to continue; could rest here, armour and all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Deconstructing Azog rush (Bilbo POV)

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I ain't got no money, and nobody'd be daft enough to pay me for this. As it is thought, so let it be said; you make the toys, I play with 'em.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watching the warrior figure first pacing towards combat, then rushing, sword and wooden shield raised, he understood.  
> -can be read as gen-

Tumbling down the goblin mineshaft had been terrifying, and yet it had been simple. There was nothing he could do, no decision to make between evils.

Not like this desperate grasp on a flimsy branch that he had to choose to continue every moment that his tired arms wanted to let go. There were wargs and orcs below, certain death; that scarred face of evil staring almost right at him promised it.

And then he lifted his head and stared in disbelief as Thorin rose up, haloed in drifting ash; by some strange magic standing tall and steady on the shivering trunk, resisting the wind that whipped his hair and furs.

Bilbo stared, the pain and fear pushed aside by an awe he had never truly known before, had only felt the echo of, listening to epic tales of bravery as a young hobbit.

"*There* is one I could follow."

Watching the warrior figure first pacing towards combat, then rushing, sword and wooden shield raised, he understood. Where earlier a hobbit's intellectual sympathy had made him want to help the dispossessed leader and his merry band, now he felt the power he'd only glimpsed in Balin's words. The rush to follow this king without thought to where he led.

The wind somehow brought Bilbo the whisper of an enraged growl in a voice that was *not* an orc, and there was a wave of emotion rising through him that was overwhelming, leaving no thought behind as sudden strength flowed through his body, arms able, of a sudden, to pull him up onto that trunk. 

Seeing Thorin's charge struck down by a powerful clawed foot, Bilbo froze, staring. An utterly unfamiliar pressure building in his chest as he panted, watching his king rise painfully to face another charge from the savage creature the orc rode, watching time slow as a horrifying spiked ball hit him square in the chest...

That roar of pain should have terrified him, but he only stared, transfixed, waiting for he couldn't imagine what. The sight of Orcrist rising again even less believable than to see that monster-

The sudden silence, broken by the sound of his king's armoured body landing un-moving, finally released him. Later he would be shocked at his actions, but in that instant, seeing the mighty dwarf suddenly defenceless, Bilbo reached for his weapon; he did not have a reason or a plan, at most there was the ghost of a thousand stories of brave battles giving words to the very scene he'd just watched.

Heat and power and focus and the hobbit was running down the fiery trunk, fuelled by utter fury, utter refusal to accept any possibility that anyone would take that dwarf's bright eyes from this world. Take the mighty king who'd charged his family's foe again after thinking so long that he'd already avenged his dead. 

In nightmares to come, Bilbo would remember watching sharp metal touch Thorin's neck, but as he ran, he only raised his sword, his steps feeling oddly heavier, weightier, as though the phantom of one of those storied warriors stepped with him.

He pushed hard as that cruel excuse for a blade rose, and he was flying, letting his body hit the creature and send him crashing down. He may as well have landed on the hard ground himself for the shock as armour bit into his unprotected body; and then he flew again, no time to react, hitting the ground on his own and a growl following him.

'fight fight fight fight', he could not lay there; had to raise his arm, his weapon -Orcrist swinging seemingly from within a mouth-. And then he had, and the body about to crush him hesitated; and Bilbo didn't, never thought, never stopped, 'stab stab you will NOT have him stab don't stop don't stop move move move where is he don't let them near'

And then there was a moment of stillness; wargs and orcs reforming in front of him, and Bilbo's mind started to think. But what could he think. Not even the most hobbitish hobbit would try to 'reason' with these foes. And Bilbo didn't feel hobbit-ish. Not even Took-ish. He felt like the King's man, didn't choose to analyze that he was setting his small, unskilled body as a last defence in front of what could be a *dead* king. No one would touch Thorin Oakenshield while Bilbo Baggins lived.

If he'd had time for real thought, Bilbo would have been surprised that what he'd felt defending his mother's glory chest, his *home*, from mad dwarves hadn't, actually, been anything at all. A mere butterfly's touch at what he'd thought were protective instincts. At any feeling at all.

This. Protecting a dwarf king, protecting Thorin, from deadly evil and his own rash will, this was what necessity felt like. This was why he'd needed to exist all these years.


	2. Deconstructing Hug (Bilbo POV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part of him, a large part, wanted the hold to continue; could rest here, armour and all.  
> -can be read as gen-

Live. You have to live. 

If he stared hard enough, surely his words would have power...

"The halfling."

Oh thank Yavanna.

Letting Gandalf's and the others' voices roll over him as they replied to that gravelly demand, Bilbo's shoulders finally lost some of the tension that had grown while watching Thorin's still body, barely-held in eagle claws as they flew, so high above the green valleys.

His eyes shut on another quick thanks to the Valar before the need to watch Thorin move made him open them once more. So stiff that the proud king allowed himself to be helped up. Obviously hurt; but alive. Standing.

The sheer relief made Bilbo shaky. Shaky in a way that he hadn't been even as he expected to be bitten in half or beheaded in the next instant. And yet it was a good feeling. Thorin would heal. And Bilbo knew he *could* be of help on this mad quest.

"You! What were you doing?"

What? But... Bilbo stiffened, turning to Gandalf automatically for help. Pulled back by another shout, "You nearly got yourself killed!"

Well. Bilbo's eyes dropped from that familiar furious expression. Well what had he expected. He did know he wouldn't have actually been able to hold them off. Yes, he knew that. The fact that he'd *tried*, well what did he expect: Thorin had never wanted him near him.

He stopped listening to the shouts, instead remembering that he'd heard it before: it made no difference. Reminding himself of his decision. A Baggins stands by his word and he'd promised to help them to Erebor, and he-

"I have never been so wrong in all my life."

Mind still half trying to give himself the pep talk to continue helping someone who despised him, the sudden cinch of hard arms encircling him and a fur-covered shoulder pushing his chin up shook him.

What in all... His arms were clamped in place, but his hands still reflexively grabbed onto the armoured body holding him so tight. *Thorin* was.. But his voice.. Bilbo breathed out a silent half-laugh, a very different elation than at their having survived the wargs flowing through him.

Thorin.. did not hate him. Whatever he'd been 'wrong' about.. Bilbo could not recall anyone ever holding onto him like this, wrapped tight around him; as though he would never be abandoned again. And he could never have even imagined hearing such heartfelt softness in the gruff king's voice.

Part of him, a large part, wanted the hold to continue; could rest here, armour and all. His sudden hunger for the never-before felt peace and comfort was shocking, enough so that he reacted immediately to being released, almost afraid of this new need to cling to another person.

He watched the dwarf king step back, and rather than think of how complicated his life was becoming and how the thought of his old life seemed so empty, instead, he wondered at Thorin's actions. Trying yet again, after all these weeks, to read past the surface of his face when it lifted from looking him over, seeming to look for injuries. 

Oh, but it was a new world now; still that deadly-serious surety, but no longer was there annoyed coldness. And the arrogant distance was a fraction what it had been, eyes meeting Bilbo's head-on, without glaring; a look of.. could that be resp-

"I am sorry I doubted you."

Bilbo knew, could not have travelled with his king and not know, that apologies would choke him, and so he hurriedly tried to ease the weight of it between them, -he was a hobbit, for sweet Yavanna's sake, what was one of Mahal's warrior kings doing apologizing to him??-, "No. No, I would have doubted me too," looking at the bloodied, painfully-standing dwarf, a vision of ash and fire and a raised sword flashed by his eyes, "I'm not a hero." He shrugged uncomfortably, "Or a warrior." Looking away from Thorin's lips tightening in what he could choose to believe was disagreement, he looked up at Gandalf a little pointedly, "Not even a burglar."

But then, looking back at his king, he couldn't help but smile helplessly at the completely unfamiliar, shocking, unhidden, *fond*.. small but definitely a *smile* he found aimed at him. When had bruised and bleeding features started to tighten the heart of this peaceful Shire hobbit?

Needing a respite from the growing pressure in his chest, Bilbo looked away again, tilting his happy smile at the wondrous eagles flying off. Riddling cave creatures, facing orcs, riding eagles and hugging kings. He should not be feeling such excitement at no longer being the respectable Baggins of Bag End who'd passed out at the thought of incineration.

Some small movement drew his eyes back to Thorin, blinking at yet another new expression and following that blue gaze hurriedly, wondering what could give his king such awe. All he saw was a mountain in the distance, standing alone.. oh.

"Is that what I think it is?" Could the end of their quest be so near?

When Thorin awkwardly headed for the edge of the spit of rock the eagles had dropped them on, Bilbo hesitated a moment, off-balance at suddenly feeling *welcome* to follow the king. To stand at his side while he drank in the sight of the home that Bilbo had promised to help return to him.

"Erebor. The Lonely Mountain. The last of the great dwarf kingdoms of Middle-earth."

However much he usually enjoyed a tale of olden times, even with the embroidery Gandalf insisted on adding, Bilbo knew that, like the night the company had invaded his home, it would be Thorin's low voice he would remember when he thought of this moment; the deep well of love the last word resonated with: "Our home."

"A raven! The birds are returning to the mountain."

"That, my dear Óin, is a thrush."

"But we'll take it as a sign - a good omen." Still staring with amazement at the cheerfully chirping little bird flying out ahead of them to fulfil a prophecy he'd heard an elf speak, Bilbo nonetheless smiled helplessly at that voice, looking up at the dwarf at his side. 

Hurriedly looking away again when he found tired blue eyes watching him with some impossible to accept mix of friendship and.. something else. Perhaps only gratitude; or curiosity for having misjudged; or.. or- He babbled the first thing that came to mind, unnerved by the way he was suddenly reacting, "You're right. I do believe the worst is behind us." 

And winced, realizing how foolish the words were as soon as he spoke them. He flicked his fingers through a silent prayer to Yavanna, that she take away any curse he might have just unintentionally laid on their quest.

**Author's Note:**

> AN1: _*may* be continued, I make no promises. I am not a professional writer and I have a love/hate relationship with muses_
> 
> AN2: _if anyone would be interested in playing wall (i.e., listen/read to rambles about ideas surrounding improving the feel/flow of a story... I would be pleased for a helping voice :)) ... I could use an advisor or 2. I have no 14th of anything to offer as reward, so unless the sharing is reward enough for you..._


End file.
